


Trapped

by ProcrastinatingSab



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Blood, Claustrophobia, Drug Use, F/M, Hallucinations, Head trauma, Implied Brightwell, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kidnapping, PTSD, Panic Attack, Psychological Torture, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:19:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23149129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatingSab/pseuds/ProcrastinatingSab
Summary: While investigating a mysterious case with the help of Dani and Edrisa, Malcolm finds himself in danger yet again. Will he come out unscathed? or will he remain trapped forever?
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell
Comments: 67
Kudos: 123





	1. Nothingness

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there :)  
> So this is my first fanfiction attempt, ever. The idea kinda sorta came to me and I couldn't do anything before I put it to words.  
> I would love to see what you guys think :3 and I hope it was entertaining to read as much as it was for me to write!

Nothingness

He did not _wake up,_ but he became suddenly aware. As if he drifted into existence. The once black silence was now accompanied by consciousness and a voice. It was like his soul was floating in the abyss of nothingness. Just a feeling of being.

And then, this floating consciousness suddenly became sentient, able to think and formulate ideas.

He tried to open his eyes, but there was nothing. Did he even will his eyelids to? Did they refuse to obey? He couldn't move either. No matter how much effort he made to discern his surroundings, it was in vain. He heard nothing, he saw nothing, he smelled nothing, and he _felt_ nothing.

 _What’s happening? Where am I? Am I dead?_

He tried to talk, scream, shout, but no sound came out.

Panic was taking over. In usual scenarios, he knows how to calm himself. It's an old technique, really. "Just take a deep breath," his therapist would always tell him, " and list 5 things you can see, 5 things you can smell, and 5 things you can feel."

Right now, he _can’t_ do any of these things, so how was he supposed to calm down?!

Panic.

Panic...

Panic!!

_Panic. No, no, no, no, no, no. WAIT!! I can breathe._

"I can breathe," he thought. "ok, so I am not dead yet."

He kept repeating the sentence in his head like a mantra all while trying to breathe until his panic subdued a little. His situation hasn't changed. He was still deprived of his senses and his body, but at least he was not into full panic mode.

Not _yet_! A helpful voice offered.

_Ok ok, so I am not dead, because I can breathe. Am I dreaming? Is this a new way my night terrors are manifesting? Or maybe not. Did I strap myself in? I don’t even remember going to sleep._

_Ok, what do I remember? Let’s list 5 things I can remember._

_My name is Malcolm Bright._

_Good._

_I am a consultant with the NYPD._

_Yes, and I love it._

_My father is Martin Whitly, a notorious serial killer._

_Really?_

_Sunshine makes my life tolerable._

_She’s quite the listener._

_I am broken._

_What…?_

He winced, at least internally. He was letting his train of thoughts go on. Unleashed. Gabrielle would have a field trip with this knowledge if she knew that 'being broken' is among the top 5 things he automatically remembers about himself.

_Never mind that now. This isn’t news. We know you are broken. Now let’s figure out what the hell is happening and what have you managed to get yourself into this time._

A few moments passed in silence. Or were they minutes? He can’t tell time. Everything is relative after all. It feels like it has been centuries since he came to, but he _can’t_ feel. Maybe it was only a few seconds. This was exhausting. He fought another wave of panic by repeating his mantra and breathing.

_This won’t help. Rational thinking will get you out. Plain old terror will not. Think..._

Flashbacks of the last few days invaded his mind, but it all seemed so fuzzy. Like something was missing. The more he fought to order his thoughts, the more they seemed to slip away. There must have been a case. But what happened? And why can't he remember? He felt angry, so angry, and bitter. Why does his brain always betray him? Why does his subconscious always choose to protect itself by casting all traumatic experiences in a cocoon and deny him access? Frustration was gnawing at him, eating him. In a time when all he can do is use his brain; his mind was betraying him yet again. His anger flared; but then his bitterness slowly subdued into loneliness.

He was alone, and no one can help him. Not even himself.

He was _alone_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is just a very short prologue. The next chapter is almost done.  
> I'll update the tags as I post new things.  
> Let me know what you thought and if you have any pointers I'll be happy to listen!


	2. Edrisa Brings in a Case

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has mentions of suicide, nothing is explicitly described, but please be warned. 
> 
> Note: I am sorry in advance if any of my medical knowledge or drugs is unrealistic. I just had an idea and I am rolling with it.

Edrisa Brings a Case

It was a good day. He navigated the streets of New York City with ease. His footsteps were happy, bouncy even. And why wouldn’t they be? There is a Case after all! Nothing makes him happier.

It’s not like he enjoys murders.

No.

He just likes to catch killers, bring them to justice. He wants to protect his family and his community. He's told John Watkins that already. He also admits that it keeps his mind off things. Keeps things at bay. It's also a good challenge, a euphoric experience. Almost like ecstasy. That all he admits.

But what he fails to admit is that he feels it's his personal mission to atone for what Dr. Martin Whitly has done. The pain he has imposed on the world. _The wounds he inflicted_. Wounds that did not only affect the victims and their families but also his mother, his sister, and himself. Wounds that cannot heal. Wounds that continue to bleed twenty years later.

No.

He does not admit any of this. Because this thought redeems him, makes him a good person. Like he is some good Samaritan who saw the world was suffering and decided to help. But, he knows he's none of that. _"We are the same_." He is not a good person. He's just to blame for what his father did. He is not any better. He is broken.

Yes.

He's serving his penance. Atoning for those sins, he somehow feels responsible for. And even though he can't seem to close the old wounds, he was at least sparing others the all-knowing pain. That’s why he loved his job at the FBI. This is why he loves working for the NYPD.

Today was a different case, though. It wasn't Gil who called him, like usual, but Edrisa. He could feel her excitement radiating from the text. Or rather a string of texts. Edrisa was the type of person to shoot 10 texts to get through one idea. Blurbs of text came to his phone as he was sipping his morning coffee.

**Bright!!!**

**You need to see this!**

**I need to talk to you.**

**It’s about a case.**

**Like a very cool one!**

**ASAP.**

**Really! It’s a good one!**

He was out of the house as soon as he read the word **case**. Malcolm liked Edrisa. He could always be himself with her. She doesn’t judge him or give him creepy glances when he’s fascinated by murder. She's actually into the same things he likes. They share the same fascination for science and anatomy.

He’s grateful for his team in the NYPD, more so now that he feels accepted by them. However, Edrisa was the first to accept him right away, and for that, he will always be grateful. After years of being considered a freak, bullied, harassed, and looked down upon, Malcolm couldn't shake the amount of relief he felt about being so fully accepted and so fast. Even when she knew who he **_was_** , _what his father was_.

He reached her office, and through the glass window, he saw her frantically typing on her computer. Her eyebrows were creased, and she was deep into whatever was on the screen that she startled when he opened the door.

"Bright!" she exclaimed, "what took you so long! Come…come in quickly."

She was hopping on her legs, and in her hurried pace, she managed to hit her funny bony. "Aow Aow Awo,” she repeated and muttered, “why does it always hurt so much.”

Malcolm smiled. It was a quiet and rueful smile, the only smile he ever gives. She doesn't remember ever seeing him truly smile.

“ Hello Edrisa,” he looked at his watch, “I had to walk here. Your texts said you have a case?”

“ Yes, yes, YES," she said with a pointed finger up in the air while navigating back to her desk, and he followed to sit at the chair there. "Okay, so it's not _really_ a case per se,” she said and saw his shoulders drop. “Wait, I mean it is, I really think it is. But when I spoke to Gil, he did not see it.”

He frowned, "Why would, Gil ..."

“haah! Because the victim wasn’t killed.”

His frown deepened, but it wasn't an impatient frown. It was leaning more towards perplexed, thoughtful, and _definitely_ not judgmental. She looked at him for a second.

"No, no, no. Let me explain. Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?” she pushed the rims of her glasses to her nose and started.

"So yesterday was a normal day. All cool. Daily work, nothing out of the ordinary, really. I was working with a poor Jane doe but then... Oh, by the way, did you know that when the lungs are submerged in water for so long, they kind of… oh, Sorry, sorry, of course, you **do**! Where was I? I got carried away,” she smiled sheepishly.

Malcolm smiled back. He knows how Edrisa gets carried away, he does so himself more often, so he's not one to judge. On regular days they can both start talking and jumping between topics that by the end of the conversation, they would have discussed ten different things and forgot what the initial topic was even about. Today was different though, and this was not an idle chat. They were discussing a case, and so he curbed his itch to ask about Jane Doe and silently let her continue her narrative. 

“Back to our story,” she continued, “ So, I get a call from a colleague of mine, Dr. Mathew Brown, he was working with a victim…um, a Mrs. Lori Stewart. Poor soul took her own life. Husband found her in the bathtub, having slit both her wrists." She hung her head low for a few seconds in dismay, and her voice was less enthusiastic, more apologetic, "She left behind a two-year-old. The husband was devastated."

He lowered his head in turn. One would assume that after so much death surrounding them, that it will get easier. It never does.

“So, Mathew, he um... wanted my opinion on her. He thinks it might not be as simple as it looks.”

In reply to his arched eyebrows, she continued, " Lori went missing a couple of days before the accident. Her husband filed a missing person's report forty-eight hours after she disappeared. He insisted that something terrible must have happened to her because Lori rarely left the house. Never without letting him know. Never without lily, their daughter. He was frantic, according to the reports here,” she moved the monitor on her desk a bit to show Bright the police report.

“However, she turned up two days later, completely unscathed, gave no explanation to where she was. Said she just wanted time off. So, the investigation was closed.”

Malcolm’s hand moved to his face stroking his chin. Edrisa knew he was processing the information, thinking of the hidden angles, something he always does, so she let him be.

“She was not restrained?” his head jerked towards her.

"No. There were no marks anywhere to indicate she has been restrained or held captive. Her clothes were in pristine condition. In all outward appearances, she looked fine. The police ran the S.A.K, and the results came back negative. Apart from her apparent silence, there was really nothing to do.”

Malcolm eyed her, and his lips curled playfully, " but that's not all. Right Edrisa? Tell me what is missing. What did you find out!”

She smiled, not at all flustered by his sassiness. He was not the best profiler she knows for nothing.

“That’s what Mathew contacted me about. He found a very carefully hidden needle entry point. She has been dosed with something. So, when checking her tox screen, he found some anomalies. Lori had a history with depression, recently she suffered from postpartum depression and was still on mood stabilizers, among many others. The bloodwork that was taken back when she came home, and that after her death gave perplexing results. Supposedly, she left her medicine at home, so her blood shouldn’t have any traces of the drugs. **Yet** the levels in the report indicate that there were drugs in her system. The person-in-charge back at the time did not notice. The total concentration was within limits and in line with what's expected, given her medication list. However, if you look closely at the chemical's concentrations, you can see some of the peaks belong to model drugs that mimic the behavior of a conventional drug. It is very easy to miss if you are not looking for it."

“So, she was given another cocktail of drugs in different concentrations such that the overall concentration was within the limits? That way if you are not directly looking for it, you might miss it. Fascinating! Any idea what could those drugs induce?”

She shook her head, “Unfortunately, by this time, the drugs were flushed out of her system and also mixed in with her normal pills so further tests could not run accurately. She was missing for four days, two before Mr. Stewart was able to file a report. According to Mathew, if she was dosed, she must have been dosed on the first day. That's roughly six days ago, so it is not easy. But we know an excellent forensic chemist. We sent her the sample. Amy Garcia will figure it out, she’s the best!”

Malcolm gnawed at his lips. Something was missing. The case sure was a mystery, but he has nothing to work with for a profile. No pattern. Just a suspected foul play that might have led a poor woman to lose her life. Nothing concrete. He understood why Gil did not see _a case_ yet.

“Edrisa,” he started but was interrupted.

"Okay, now you know the specifics. umm, you also know that I um kind of follow lots of real crime blogs?" her voice continued to drop as if she was ashamed of her hobby and expected the usual judgemental looks she normally received. He said nothing, just looked at her expectantly, and waited.

“ Lori Stewart was not the only case. In fact, this is the third case this month alone!”

That’s it. she hit the _jackpot_.

He shifted in his chair and looked back up at her, his blue eyes shining with radiant excitement.

She liked how excited he usually gets, and a deep sense of pride invaded her. She had to admit he had pretty eyes. The type anyone can get lost into. And they got all the much prettier when they shone this way. Edrisa liked Bright. No. Not in that sort anyway. Malcolm Bright was not her crush, despite how she always makes it seem. He is a friend. If anything, she just loves his brain and is fascinated by it. However, that does not mean she can't appreciate art, and his eyes _were_ art.

“The reason why the two cases passed under the police’s radar was that the victims were not reported missing. Here..” she passed him a file with the two names and some information.

“A college Freshman, Alex Sanders, and Natalie Young, she is an artist. Here is all the information that I found. I will also let you know when Amy gets back to me about the drug."

“Thank **_YOU_** , Edrisa," he said with excitement while hopping off his chair. He steadied his clothes, "I will start on a profile right away. But I will need more information."

She smiled playfully, “You could probably ask Detective Powel. I am sure she will be happy to help.”

He did not seem to hear her because he offered no comment, but she could see his cheeks flush a little. He waved her goodbye and rushed out.

Edrisa eased in her chair. She already felt better. Whoever was behind the death of those people, and behind orphaning a two-year-old will not get away with this.

* * *

Edrisa tensed while she sat in that metal armchair. She was terrified beyond measure. Her wrists were tied to the arms of the chair using duct tape. Her ankles were tied together as well. She felt a searing pain in her limbs like fire every time she struggled against them. Edrisa **knew** that they won’t give away, they were wrapped at least five times, but that did not stop her. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears, and she was struggling to breathe. The duct tape gagging her made matters even worse.

She sat in that chair like some damsel in distress, she couldn't even lift her glasses up when they kept slipping off the bridge of her nose. Not like she loved what she saw, but _she has to be able to see._ A wave of helplessness crushed her even more, her heartbeat beat even faster. _I **am** a damsel in distress, and by the looks of it, I am not going to be leaving this place alive._

She could not have imagined that she would ever be in such a position. Sure, she had a gun pointed at her once before, and she did not imagine that as well.

_No, but no, this was different. This was hopeless. This was futile._

She looked at Bright, a few feet away, and her eyes welled with tears again. She was astonished that tears kept coming. They kept pouring down her face unchecked, and she let them. This was all her fault; she should never have gotten involved in that case. She should never have sent Bright those texts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was not very expositional, but the story needed to progress. The next chapter will involve more interactions hopefully :3 I also hope I did Edrisa justice. I really like her character because I can relate to her? 
> 
> If you have noticed, I might have name-dropped Amy Garcia from Lucifer because she is awesome and I love her.
> 
> I would love it if you left a comment and let me know what you thought!


	3. It all Comes Down Together

It all Comes Down Together

The NYPD still wouldn’t officially open the case, despite Gil’s best efforts and Bright’s incessant arguments. The chief of police argued that if no concrete evidence was presented, his hands will be tied, and the resources should be better allocated in other places. And so, Malcolm decided to work the case alone and as best as he could until he can find any evidence. Meanwhile, the others were given another homicide to investigate. Malcolm was way too invested and frustrated with this one that for the first time in forever, he was not hopping behind Gil and the team when he heard the word "homicide."

He sat at his desk for what seemed like hours. Between the frantic writing, the computer searching, and the file reading, he would sometimes get lost in his mind and stare at his notes while juggling the pen in his hand. Dani liked to see him work. Getting engrossed in a case made him calmer, more present.

The sleep deprivation, nightmares, and the visits to his father were taking a toll on him. He’s been visiting Dr. Whitly regularly now and refused to tell her why. She guessed it had to do with the whole stabbing and coma ordeal. She wanted to ask more than once, but he seemed very wary about it, and so Dani did not pry. With two cups of tea in her hands, she made her way to him. 

He was staring at the pictures of the victims. Natalie, the first one, was found in her studio apartment. She had overdosed on her prescription pills. Like Lori, there was no indication that she was ever kidnapped. Alex, however, had deep lacerations around his wrists and a busted lip. Malcolm was so shocked this did not raise any flags. Alex's roommates said, "He was a weirdo and always got himself in trouble. Maybe he was experimenting. A lot of people do it nowadays, and that's how he got his wounds." He was found hanging from the ceiling in his dorm room.

“Figured it out yet?” Dani's voice came to him, breaking his train of thoughts. She was holding a cup of tea and handing him another.

“Hey- Dani,” he smiled and took the cup. “Thank you. um... the victims are definitely related. They all have been in tragic and traumatic situations. Alex had a car accident with his family when he was ten. They stayed in the car for twenty hours before they were found and rescued, he was the only survivor. Natalie was sexually assaulted and raped by her high school boyfriend. And Lori’s childhood friend was kidnapped when she was seven and never found…”

“So, they were chosen because of their trauma ?”

“At first, I thought so too, but something felt wrong. The way the women were treated as opposed to the men. They were taken care of, not assaulted. It’s like he felt an emotional connection towards them. Then why take Alex? I don't know, this feels personal”

She smiled at his frustration “That’s why you wanted the phone records?”

"Yes. It turns out that Lori, Alex, and Natalie were all attending a group therapy program for people under twenty-five three years ago. According to the phone records, the three stayed in contact for a while after, and then it all died. Then a month ago, Natalie started reaching out to them again. That’s how they were targeted.”

She threw him a puzzled look. “so, this is not some sadistic killer who is exploiting people with trauma?”

"No, this is _about_ Natalie. His first victim. She was missing the longest. Maybe she was being pursued by the killer, and she reached out to them. So, they had to be silenced as well."

"What a weird way to get rid of people,"

"It's genius. He's smart. Whatever he did, whatever methods he used, it drove them to take their own lives, and his hands remained clean. Also, there is a big chance he enjoyed it, might want to try to repeat it soon."

“Still, no evidence?"

“No,” he huffed, desperation creeping to his eyes.

"You said Natalie displayed her art in an art avenue nearby. We can go talk to the person in charge. Inquire into the mystery man that might have invaded her life."

His eyes lit up at the proposition, "that will be great. Thanks, Dani!"

She smiled, “ I have a couple of free hours on hand. Honestly, I am surprised you haven’t gone on your own yet.”

He smirked, eyes overflowing with mischief, "I was going to see her today."

“O _f course, you were_. Let’s go!” she met his smirk with one of her own and reached for her jacket.

* * *

The art gallery was small. One of many, scattered across the city. There were a handful of people in the place, mainly couples, or art students, and one tall guy in a grey hoodie.

While the gallery hosted the artwork of many aspiring artists, the work of Natalie Young was the highlight of the place. Her work, the strokes, the colors, and overall aesthetic breathed with life and conveyed all that she felt. Like reading a diary, Natalie put her soul in those paintings. Dani could feel her joy, her sadness, her trauma, and her hope all intertwined in one drawing. She marveled at how someone could have that much control to convey emotions without uttering a single word. _Art is what you want it to be, after all_. One secret about Dani was that she loved art and so she was momentarily lost into the painting in front of her that she missed part of the conversation. Then suddenly the civil chatter between Bright and the owner became hostile.

“I had a gallery to run, I didn’t think to call the police when she went missing. Plus, well, she was having one of _those_ episodes. One day she's happy and singing and one day she looks like her dog died. And I avoid her when she got like _that_. I thought she wanted a break, ” the owner was shrugging. Bright was livid.

“Like _that_? She was hurting. Actually, people like _you_ are the problem…”

“Hey Bright, Bright”

“…dismissive and judgmental. Look where she is right now!”

“Don’t you dare,”

“Bright, please…”

“How _dare_ _you_! I took care of her, gave her a job after everyone rejected her," the owner scoffed indignantly.

“… and that somehow makes you a saint?

“Get out! Now! If you have no warrant, then this is over!”

Dani stared, so overcome with shock. Malcolm was spiraling, and she never saw him like that before, so agitated, so angry, hurt. Even when he was confronting his father about killing him, he did not lose control like that. She blinked her shock away and took his arms. He flinched at first and looked at her with angry eyes, then he took a deep breath and allowed himself to be led out of the gallery.

“Bright what’s wrong, what’s really going on. You never let anyone work you up like that. Not even…” she bit her lips.

“My father?” he spat the word, obviously still very angry. His body was shaking with the effort to calm himself, "forget it".

Dani looked at him, concern etched all over her face, and said nothing. She waited for him to calm down, to breathe down his panic and rage. And as she looked at him, a faint feeling of recognition stabbed at her heart. She has seen this reaction before, the flash of anger in the eyes, the indignation, and helplessness. She saw all those feelings and emotions in her mirror many times when she was recuperating after her nearly deadly undercover mission.

She also remembered the only other time he has lost it like that. It was with Gil, right after Watkins kidnapped him. Understanding dawned at her, and she moved for his arm again.

“Malcolm?” she all but whispered. He looked at her, surprised she called him by his first name. It was all he needed to snap out of it. Guilt was creeping into his eyes.

“I am sorry,” he mumbled, ashamed of what happened.

“I will have to get back to you on that,” she teased and saw him smile. “Wanna talk about it?” She fiddled with her phone to avoid eye contact. “Since we cut our interview short, I still have some time before I have to go back to the precinct. I could really use a cup of coffee.”

* * *

There was a coffee shop across the street from the gallery. Dani ordered an Americano dark roast and was surprised when Malcolm settled for a Latte with four shots of caramel.

"sweet tooth," he smiled when he noticed her inquisitive look, "and caffeine doesn't work with me. Seeing as I never have trouble staying awake, it only makes the hand tremors worse."

Dark humor was one thing she and him had in common. Along with the trust issues and the trauma people usually don't like to touch on. They were both too similar, too perfect for each other, yet too damaged. She wondered if he was not him and she was not her, would this have worked?

But she is who she is today because of her experiences, and so was he. They wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't have worked. Maybe Malcolm, whose dad was not _the surgeon_ , would have never joined the FBI or the NYPD or met her. If she never ODed and was saved by Gil, she would still be working in narcotics. No. They wouldn’t be themselves. It still wouldn’t have worked.

“…Dani?” she stirred. He was talking to her and just realized that she wasn’t listening.

“Sorry,” She flushed with embarrassment.

“I was saying, Natalie must have been a regular here. Maybe the barista knows her?”

"yah, yah, let's talk to him."

* * *

Talking to the barista was the break they needed. Natalie was not only a regular, but she liked to talk to the barista as well. According to him, she _was_ seeing someone.

The man used to visit her art gallery every day and noticed her sitting in the shop and approached her. Natalie was a quiet girl, shy and introverted. But the cute stranger made her smile, he always gave her flowers, dotted her with chocolate. She looked happier than she ever was. It was noticeable. She now hums to music when she drew and smiled at the barista more often. Two days before she disappeared, Natalie was apprehensive but excited. She told him that she was traveling with Mason for a couple of days, on a getaway trip. Something wrong happened because when Natalie came back two weeks later, she was so quiet, sad, jumpy. She came twice to the coffeeshop after, kept looking over her shoulder like she was expecting to be attacked. Then the next thing he knew was that she has overdosed.

The man went by Mason, Natalie said he was some sort of chemist. He showed up a couple of times after. The last time was around half an hour ago, where he got some coffee and went into the gallery. He gave them Mason's description. 

A description and a last name did so little for IDing the man. There were many Masons who worked in pharmaceutical factories all over the city. Based on the description, only three were about six-foot, blonde, and had piercing blue eyes. Dani has promised that they will go speak to all three tomorrow. They were close, and considering that they barely had anything a couple of hours back, this was progress. Malcolm almost had a profile complete.

Mason was a stalker. Natalie was his target. And like a chameleon, he had inserted himself into her life. The girl had no family and no friends. Her art was everything. He has lured her to this trip, and something happened there that shook her. Then she reached out to her only acquaintances (friends?) from her therapy group for help. Maybe she said so much, and so they became targets too.

* * *

He couldn't help but smile at his luck. It was as if Christmas came early! Edrisa waltzed to him, a smile so wide on her face and dropped a file on his desk.

“I told you Amy Garcia would deliver! The combination of the drugs in these concentrations acted as a paralytic agent. It caused distortion and immobility. It's **_CRAZY_** how small changes in concentrations alone can do that.”

“So, he drugged them? Made them face their greatest fear. Imprisoned them in their body.”

“ _Pretty scary stuff, right?”_ she said with a nervous chuckle while emphasizing every word. "um, she also ran down the possible factories that produce these chemicals, the list is in the file."

"Thank you, Edrisa!" He opened the file and frantically started to cross-reference this list with the other he and Dani obtained.

Edrisa started to say something but he didn’t respond. He was in his own world now. She mumbled something about going back to her work and left.

Malcolm found him.

David Mason.

Once Edrisa provided this lead, it was _so easy_ to narrow it down. It had to be him. He wanted to call Dani and tell her, wanted to tell Gil too, but something inside him decided against it. He closed his files and headed out.

* * *

He probably knew this was wrong, but he couldn't stop himself. Malcolm Bright walked east towards the address he got and hoped he catches the break in this case that weighed so heavily on his heart. He was so absorbed in his mind, determined to find answers, and impatient in his strides that he did not notice the two people who were following him.

It was almost 7 pm. Edrisa finished all her work for today, and so she pulled up her coat and left the precinct. It also happened that Malcolm was also leaving, and Edrisa got this feeling that he was not up to any good. It’s been blatantly obvious to all of them by now that he had zero self-preservation and no respect for protocols. And something deep inside her just told her, she _just knew_ he was not going home, and so she followed him.

The tall man with the grey hoodie who was idly sitting across the precinct stirred. To all outward appearances, he seemed like a homeless person, but if someone noticed how he hawk-eyed the entrance, they would beg to differ. When special consultant Malcolm Bright left and started walking east, he propped himself and prepared to follow. But when he noticed that the profiler was already being followed by another figure, a middle-aged Asian woman, he smiled. He braced himself for a couple of moments and began to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked it! I am so excited for the next chapter. It is almost done.
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	4. Kidnapped

Kidnapped

It was not a really long walk, and for someone as experienced in the streets and shortcuts of NYC, Malcolm cut the commuting distance by a good twenty minutes. As he got out on the last subway stop, Edrisa could not morally keep herself hidden anymore and decided to call out.

“Bright! … Bright”

His head whipped in her direction, “Edrisa! What are you doing here? Have you been _following me_?”

"well," she blushed, " when you put it this way, it sounds bad. I saw you outside the precinct and knew you were up to something, and I was **Right!** ” she pointed an accusatory finger at him to which he squinted.

“Also, I just got worried, so I was keeping an eye on you. You tend to always run in trouble on your own sooo."

“I am just going to check the place. Not going to do anything stupid. I promise”

“Ok, then I am coming with you. I always wanted to see you work, umm no I mean I just want to be in the action you know, feel the thrill of the chase."

“No, this could be dangerous for you. Besides, I was trained by the FBI and I can…”

“Orrr…. I can just give Gil a call," she shrugged and put her hands up. He knew this was the end of the conversation. She'd won, and so they walked together for the rest of the journey.

* * *

The factory had an eerie feel. Edrisa did not know if it was because she knew the killer worked there, or because it was just after hours, and everyone was home. Malcolm, however, did not seem to share her sentiment; he was excited and buzzing with energy.

“Come on,” he said with eyes so wide like a kid who found out he’s going to Disney land. She only followed because the alternative was much worse. Of course, they weren’t just _‘checking the place’_ like he said. His curiosity got the best of him, and he was looking for a way in. 

Malcolm didn't know what he was doing, really. It was a recurring theme in his life. In psychological terms, he based almost all of his decisions on his ID. Ego and Superego be damned. And that meant wherever his impulses led, he followed.

In a moment’s hindsight, and if given a chance to redo it all again, Malcolm would have never come here, never ventured in the factory's premises and never ever agreed to have Edrisa go with him. This realization dawned on him the second he heard her yelp and turned to find her in the arms of a shadowed figure. One arm was wrapped around her, and the other was pointing a gun at her temple. He took in the scene with horror, only magnified by the pang of guilt he now felt. 

Edrisa was looking at him, trembling like a leaf, her breath was hitching like she was inhaling smoke. The man said nothing, he only smiled, and a row of even white teeth shone in the dark. He was waiting for Bright to react. Malcolm looked around and noted that they were hidden behind the trees and well away from the streets. He cursed himself again and turned to the guy and smiled.

“Hello, um _David_?" he ventured while raising both his hands up and looked at Edrisa, "It's ok, Edrisa, stay calm. Everything will be ok." She whimpered in response, too scared to speak.

Mason’s smiled widened, "such confidence. I like that, Mr. Bright. If you don't want me to hurt your little friend here, toss your phone on the ground. Don't do anything stupid."

“You know my name?” Malcolm tilted his head in puzzlement, “oh right, you were there at the gallery? The man in the hoodie. Of course.”

"Your partner was very loud," he shrugged. "Now, do as I said.”

“Ok, Ok. I am throwing it. You are in control.”

“Oh, I know _I am_ ,” he pressed the gun at her temple and started to move it along her face, to her chin not breaking his eye contact with Malcolm, and his smile was as smug as ever.

Malcolm looked at Edrisa, who whimpered and trembled but wasn’t letting out any other sound. He guessed that she was probably so terrified that her voice stopped working. Her breathing was more frantic, and she was starting to hyperventilate. He clenched his jaw in anger. _He shouldn’t have brought her along._

Mason’s other hand was moving along Edrisa’s pockets until they found her phone. He threw it next to Malcolm’s.

"Now walk nice and easy, hands in the air. I don't need to remind you what will happen to your friend here if you don't."

“Where to?”

"You will see. Now, walk straight."

They walked for a minute or two in silence; Malcolm, moving slowly with his hands in the air so he wouldn't spook Mason, and Mason walking behind him all but carrying Edrisa since her legs couldn’t work properly. There was a small secondary loading point at the side of the factory. Some loading cars and boxes were there. Malcolm saw the other car parked and knew they were not going in the factory, but away. His only chance to take control of the situation was now, or they were screwed. And so, he talked.

"Mason, listen, I know you did not mean to kill those people, and Natalie; you were just…"

A chuckle startled him, "Seriously? shut up, or I will blow her brains out. I know what you are doing. Now stop by that car here and turn around. Yes. Perfect.”

He fiddled in his pockets with his empty hand and chucked a pair of handcuffs towards Malcolm.

“Come on. and tighten them.” Malcolm stooped to pick them up and secured them on his wrists, the cold rims of the metal cuffs a cool contrast to his burning skin. He looked up at Mason and waved his handcuffed hands to show him he’s done. They were in serious trouble. _Idiot._

“Good, now open the trunk and get in.”

“N..no..” Stammered Edrisa.

“Shhh sweetheart,” Mason cooed and turned to Malcolm waving his gun for him to move. "Stop thinking of ways to outsmart me and get in."

Malcolm took a deep breath, " I am not. I am not. Look. Going in. Not thinking of anything. Just do not hurt her," and he went in the trunk. He adjusted himself to make himself as comfortable as possible. He was resting on his back, and his legs were bent at an annoying angle. Uncomfortable; yes. But he could see what's happening when the trunk opened.

Mason left Edrisa standing and moved towards the car, "Stay here, sweetheart, I'll be back."

He pointed the gun at Bright in the trunk, and the other hand checked that the restraints were tight. Once satisfied, he moved to close it, "Well, have a comfortable stay.”

Edrisa could have run, she could have screamed. She could have picked up that rock in front of her on the ground and hit him, but she couldn’t move. She was so petrified that she didn’t feel her body belonged to her anymore. She did not even buckle to the ground like she thought she would once their kidnapper moved away. No. she just stayed standing there, shaking. The sound of the trunk slamming with Bright inside made her flinch. Just like that their fate was sealed. The monster was walking towards her, and everything was becoming so blurry. Her head was swimming, and she was starting to see the black cloud her vision. The last thing she heard before she plunged into the welcome darkness was, "Oh, you are making things so much easier, sweetheart."

* * *

Malcolm took in a deep breath. He could feel his heart in his throat, his adrenaline was surging through the roof.

_What were you even thinking of coming here? How many times will you get yourself in trouble before you learn?_

_Well, apparently, "thinking" wasn't on the agenda for this visit. I just wanted to see where he worked. And now Edrisa was in trouble, and so was he. Great._

_How will you get out of this one now?_

_I’ll figure something out. At least I am awake? Counts for something. Last time I was out of it like a sitting duck._

He could not tell how long he was in the back of the trunk, but judging by the stiffness of his limbs, he would assume an hour or so. The smooth asphalt suddenly became rough, and the uncomfortable ride became exponentially painful. His head kept banging against the floor with every move, and he was feeling so nauseous from the movement. His anxiety was not helping either; If mason was going off the roads, then this would cut down their chances of escape considerably.

By the time the car stopped, he had already formulated a plan. If talking doesn't work, then he would attack him or go down fighting. _Preferably without the going down part._

The trunk did not open right away. It did not open at all.

He heard Mason’s footsteps walking away from the car and then silence followed. _Now_ that was irritating. He was worried about Edrisa and remembered with a pang of guilt that their predicament was his fault.

Malcolm was many things, but claustrophobic was not one of them. However, sitting like that was starting to stir down some unpleasant memories; of a girl, of a station wagon, and of a camping trip. He lay there in silence for a while before he heard Mason come back. He shook his legs to release some of the numbness that was eating at them and braced himself. The moment the trunk opened, he flung both of them at his kidnapper. Surprisingly Mason had not anticipated this, and the kick connected with his chest driving all the air out. He doubled over, clutching his chest, and started coughing.

Mason was quick on his feet, though, and while Malcolm was taking the chance and sitting up, he held the lid of the trunk and brought it down on Malcolm’s head with all the force he could muster. A sudden and sharp pain exploded behind Malcolm’s eyes, and he felt the bile rise to his throat.

His movements were a bit sluggish, but despite the pain, he was still attempting to escape. This time he heard the noise of impact before he could feel the pain. His eyes rolled back as the lid was snapped over his head for the second time. The second impact was enough to stop his futile attempts at an escape, and he sank back in the trunk. His eyes were swimming with pain, and he could feel his warm blood oozing from a wound in his head matting his hair and dripping over his ears and cheeks.

“Jesus! I bet getting crammed in the trunk for two hours does make a person listless. I am so tempted to leave you here some more, but I have a feeling that's not fun." Mason shrugged, "Not for me anyway. You see, I like to watch. It's true that I am still new to all this. But I am getting the hang of it."

Malcolm looked at him behind pain-glazed eyes and managed a mocking smile, "Didn't know that hitting you will get you to finally open up."

Mason laughed, “Come on. Get up. And remember to behave yourself."

Malcolm stumbled to his feet, breathing in the fresh air and looked around. His suspicions from before were confirmed: they were in an open field. There was a small warehouse a couple of feet away, but apart from that, everything else was engulfed in darkness.

“Where is Edrisa?” he asked and stopped walking.

He felt a strong kick connecting with his spine, and he was lunged forward, tripping, and falling to the ground. Malcolm only had a second to brace himself and instinctively put his hands in front of him, taking the impact of his fall. However, since they were handcuffed, they didn't prove a good anchor, and his shoulder took part of the impact as well. It was a win, nevertheless, because he could protect his head from further damage. He already suspected he's concussed. The fall wasn't making his head feel any better; It was throbbing with a sharp intensity that darkened his vision.

“I said move,” the fiend commanded.

Malcolm struggled to his knees first, unconsciousness threatening his every move, and then pushed himself to his feet. He was swaying slightly, as he staggered forward, each step felt like he was weighed down by an anvil. His head was still bleeding, and he really wanted to hold his hands up to stop the throbbing. But his entire focus was to keep his feet working under him and move forward. He walked in complete silence, and Mason was following him and smirking. Malcolm did not need to look behind to see, he _knew_.

After what felt like hours, they finally reached the door. Mason roughly grabbed his left arm and led him through the dim-lit place. Malcolm did not struggle. They entered the first room on the right, and Malcolm was shoved to a chair. He let his head roll back and closed his eyes for a minute. Slowly he opened them again and looked around for Edrisa. The room was small, barely furnished; there were a desk and a swivel chair, a foldable bed, and the chair he was in. Edrisa was not there.

“Where is Edrisa!” he growled, “what have you done to her?”

"Don't worry about her. I have no interest in your little friend yet," Mason laughed good-humoredly. " I am more interested in you at the moment. You have such a feisty spirit, like Alex. I think I prefer working with men. They are more fun to break."

Malcolm glared at him, his head was held high in defiance, fists clenched and shoulders held straight. But the effort to hold himself up straight was very obvious, and it made Mason laugh even more.

“See! Fun,” he went back to the desk in the room and started fumbling with the equipment there.

Malcolm looked at the entrance and thought of making a run for it. He could easily… no, he _can’t._ He could barely hold his head up, there is no way he can outrun Mason. Also, he didn't know where Edrisa was. He needed to stay here and figure something else, buy them time.

Mason looked at him with a lopsided grin. He must have known what Malcolm was thinking and found it amusing. He was holding a syringe in his hands, filled with a colorless liquid. Malcolm's blood ran cold.

The Drug.

 _No no, no, no, no, this cannot happen_. He has to figure something else. He was starting to panic and made frantic attempts to get up and run. Walk away from here. _God, anything else. He can't get trapped in his mind. He can’t._

"Afraid of a needle?" Mason mocked, " Don't worry, I have been told I am good at this. You won't feel a thing. Come lie on the bed for me. You will need a place to rest after."

Malcolm froze. He stared at him and scoffed. Did he seriously think he would go and take this drug willingly? He managed to stand up, feeling more powerful this way and looked at Mason.

“No”

Mason returned the glare, and slowly all the humor from his face was dissipating. He gestured to the bed again. And then when he spoke, his voice was stern, and every trace of humor was gone. His threat was a cold promise that chilled Malcolm to the core.

“You _will_ come and lie in that bed and take what I give you or by god, I will lock you in here and go have all the fun with your little friend. Edrisa You called her? I will make her scream so much that It will haunt your every second. And when I am _done_ with her, I will come back for you.”

There was no more to be said. Malcolm bowed his head in defeat. He had no choice. He just had to undergo this and hopefully pull through. They were dealing with an unstable maniac. He might have carefully planned Lori’s dose because he did not want to be found. However, kidnapping an M.E and a police consultant meant he did not care anymore about making this a clandestine operation. The thrill was outweighing all shred of reason. Malcolm hoped that at least, Mason wasn’t planning to overdose him with the drug.

He walked to the bed, slowly dragging his feet. It wasn't as much for the dread as it was because he could barely walk straight. He did not want to stumble and fall, a small act to keep some dignity in this ordeal.

When he laid on the bed, Malcolm closed his eyes. Mason was not laughing or smirking now. He was focused and methodological. He took out a set of keys and unlocked Malcolm's handcuffs just to show him how helpless he was. That even if he was free, he was shackled by something far more profound than some handcuffs. Edrisa's life was in his hands. 

Mason held the syringe and slowly injected the drug into his system. It was true that he was good at this, because Malcolm felt no sting. The drug was cold against his veins and was already clogging his senses.

He does not know how long it took. He was slowly losing all feeling in his limbs. The throbbing pain in his head from before was no longer there. His tongue was starting to feel heavy, and all he could hear was static. Mason put something to block his nose, forcing him to breathe through his mouth. It was not easy, considering his whole body was almost numb by now. He was struggling to form thoughts, and his memory was faltering. Was he losing consciousness? He did not know.

The last thing Malcolm Bright remembered was a blindfold moving over his eyes before he was plunged into darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to leave a comment!


	5. And It All Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the long break. Had some school work to finish!  
> I hope you like this one :D

And It All Begins

"Malcolm, say something, my boy. I know it must be hard on you. God only _knows_ how hard it was on me."

He was in a _cemetery?_ He looked around at the source of the voice and felt his skin crawling with fear. Standing next to him was Martin Whitly, his father, dressed in an all-black suit and coat. He flinched and jumped away.

He honestly did not know which was worse, being in a cemetery dressed in black- _why is he dressed in black?_ \- or the fact that Martin Whitly was standing right next to him. _What’s happening here_?

“…look I am sure it was not supposed to go this way, but they were going to tell the police and expose us," Martin was saying.

Malcolm looked at him, confused.

_They? Who are they? Tell the police what? Expose who?_

So many questions were cramming his head, fighting to jump to his lips, but when he looked ahead and read the names on the headstones, the words got strangled in his throat. He blinked once, twice, ten times, but the text remained the same.

**_Here lies Jessica Whitly, beloved wife and mother._ **

**_Here lies Ainsley Whitly, beloved daughter, sister, and best friend._ **

****

“What did you do?” the voice was barely a whisper, trembling and suffocating with unshed tears.

“Me? My boy, it was the both of us!” Martin looked taken aback, “ I have to admit the car crash idea of yours was great!”

"NO!!" Malcolm was trembling all over now. He doubled over and let out a curdling scream like a wounded doe. Everything was fading around him, and no amount of screaming could fix this.

He screamed anyway. He shrieked with helplessness and sorrow. He screamed to numb the agony eating at his heart. He screamed till his voice broke, and then the tears came after, so many, unchecked. He could barely breathe, letting out gasps from his raw throat. He hugged his middle and bent over, letting his forehead touch the ground, and he kept sobbing soundlessly.

Martin was looking at him, and in a somber voice, he added, "I will terribly miss them... too. Especially your little sister, she was… she was our little sunshine. And your mother...”

Malcolm looked up at the monster talking and pretending to feel remorse. _This was so wrong. How was this even happening? It was not real. Yet it felt so real. His pain and anguish felt so real. The tombs felt so real. This anger that was burning inside of him felt so unmistakably real._

He felt a knife in his pocket. He immediately took it out and held it up with such ease that surprised him. No amount of screaming and crying could numb out the pain he felt. Nothing will bring them back. But… but he owed them this.

Martin looked at the knife and smiled. He smiled when Malcolm shoved it through his heart. He smiled as his crimson blood seeped out on Malcolm’s hands.

“Mmy boy, mmhm.. ss.. so proud!” and he went down like a log.

Malcolm looked at the knife in his hands, and the body on the grass and the blood on his clothes and he wanted to scream some more. But he already screamed his lungs out, and his throat was rubbed raw, and nothing came out anymore. He fell to his knees next to his father's motionless body and his sister’s and mother's tombs, and among frenzied breaths, he made his decision.  
He reached for the knife, but it was gone. Everything was gone. He couldn't even escape this hell he was in.  
What was this cruel and monstrous fate?

As the darkness engulfed him again, he was nothing but grateful.

* * *

A few minutes ago, which felt like hours, Mason came into the room dragging behind a wheeled bed with Bright's unconscious body. He looked ashen and his hair matted with dried blood that seeped all over his right ear and cheek. He looked _dead_ , and she could feel her heart in her throat at the prospect.

Mason observed her reaction and chuckled, “don’t be silly, _Edrisa,_ I wouldn’t kill him so quickly. We must have fun for a while first.”

He brought the bed to a distance close to her so she can observe and then dragged an armchair next to it. He then walked back to the bed and started casually talking while he worked on something she couldn't focus on.

"I gave him a little something to help him sleep, but you already know that, don't you. Do tell me, what do you actually know about it?"

He waited expectantly for an answer, then looked at her gagged and bound form and smirked, "oh sorry, forgot you can't _speak_. I am sorry about that; I just don’t want him to hear you.”

He looked back at Malcolm with predatory eyes, “he must feel completely alone, or this will not work. Complete detachment is key.”

Edrisa flinched at the comment and looked with horror-stricken eyes at Malcolm once more. In this second look, she noticed things her mind had previously ignored. She was so desperate after seeing him motionless on the bed that she failed to notice the blindfolds over his eyes, the swimming plugs blocking his nose, and the noise-canceling earphones that Mason was propping over his head. _The bastard_. She felt her blood boil.

“Putting two and two together? It’s my own unique sensory deprivation kit. Obviously, nothing is new in what you see. Actually, the novelty is in the drugs. It renders the person motionless, and so they become completely trapped inside. The drug induces hallucinations and scrambled memories as well, at least for the first couple of hours.”

He looked at Malcolm with a creepy enduring smile, "keep them like that for a couple of days, and they are bound to kill themselves after."

Edrisa gagged. She didn’t know when she started crying, but the prospect of having Bright endure this was terror, the fact that this bastard was enjoying it made it a million times worse. 

Mason sat in his armchair and rested his head on his palms, "but you know what else is interesting? They can't _feel_ anything, and they somehow all assume they can't speak? So, they just squirm and cry. The human mind is really fascinating."

As if on cue, Bright's chest started heaving. He did not move, couldn't move, but his breathing was spiking with every second. Then a curdling scream broke out that startled both of them. She looked at Mason with tear-filled imploring eyes and started speaking, begging him to stop, but he wasn't even looking at her. He was so baffled and shocked that somehow his victim was screaming.

The screams kept coming, so loud and piercing, and so full of heart breaking anguish. It was gut wrenching. 

Mason quickly hurried out. When he came back with another syringe in his hand, Malcolm's voice was already breaking, his abused throat was raw. He quickly took Malcolm's arm and injected him with another drug. They both watched as Malcolm's screams subdued, and, mercifully, his breathing dropped back to a normal rhythm signaling that he drifted back into unconsciousness.

Edrisa’s heart was pounding so hard she wondered how it didn’t explode out of her chest yet. Mason looked at her with eyes full of curiosity and went over to her chair. In an instant, she was squirming within herself, trying to get away from this inhuman creature, but of course, failing.

Mason got too close for her comfort and looked at her, “your friend is interesting… _Edrisa._ I have never seen such a reaction to my drug before." His hands started playing with her hair, and he chuckled when she shuddered.

“I have never needed to sedate anyone before either. He was a bit of loud screamer, wasn’t he?”

His finger was now curling one of her strands, lost in thought “I wonder what he was hallucinating. Must have been pretty intense.”

He left her curls and moved away, and Edrisa exhaled with relief. If he noticed her reaction, he did not comment this time. He went back to the armchair next to Malcolm’s bed and continued, “now that sedative will numb him, he won’t be able to scream anymore.”

He smiled maliciously at Edrisa’s muffled sob, “ though I doubt he can even speak after all that screaming. But why risk it,” he shrugged. 

Edrisa was usually a shy and awkward girl. Granted, she was an excellent medical examiner and a strong woman. But, still, one can never think that she was capable of hurting a fly. Yes, she dealt with blood and gore and dead bodies, but this was her job, something that benefited people and helped find justice for the victims. But god forbid she does anything like that outside the boundaries of her work. 

However, at this moment, as she stared at Mason's smug face, all she could see was red. If she had her scalpel, she would have gutted him right now and felt no remorse after.

Instead, she kept looking at Malcolm lying there, exposed, violated, and helpless. Being tortured by getting imprisoned in his own personal hell. She could see his wet blindfold and the streaks of tears glistening around his cheeks. As of now, tears will be his only way of letting the hurt out.

She started to weep. Edrisa wept for him, for his pain. She wept for his screams and his abused throat. She wept her anger away and her helplessness. Her friend needed her, and she couldn’t do anything about it. She sat in that stupid chair, trapped just like him.

_No ... nothing like him._

Malcolm’s chest started rising and falling in a frenzy again, and she knew he came to. He was going to endure this hell once more, and she didn't even know for how long.

And…and this monster made her watch.

* * *

"Come down, Malcolm, you will miss out on all the fun," his mother called, her voice echoed, warm and happy, through the house.

" Yes, mother," he closed his books and ran down to the garden. His parents were tending to the BBQ, and Ainsley was playing with her stuffed dolls. The smell of food made his mouth water, and his stomach grumble.

“Hey, my boy,” Martin chuckled good-heartedly when he heard the sound, “the food is almost ready, just let me make sure the steak is cooked through. Hang in there, will you.”

"Okay," he smiled and sat at the porch that led to their backyard. The spring breeze was so soft on his skin, and it made his senses tingle with content. He liked those Saturdays when his father was not on call. Those family gatherings were the best thing ever, and he was such a lucky boy to have it all.

“Malcolm darling, come help me and your dad, will you?” his mom called, “just hand him the knife over there.”

He looked at his mom and stared. She was covered in blood. It was on her dress, covering her hands, sprayed all over her face. She was looking at him and smiling a smile that wasn't hers. His heart leaped to his mouth. _This is wrong. This is not what happened_.

“What’s wrong dear?” she titled her head in mock concern, “even your sister is helping us.”

He dared to look away from his mother for a second, his eyes darted towards his father and Ainsley. They were hunched over a … a _**Body**. _

His five-year-old sister was holding a knife and smiling way too excitedly, "come on, Mal! Daddy finally agreed to teach me too!"

“No, no…” he started to back away, his feet barely moving, “this isn’t real. It did not happen this way.”

A hand touched his shoulders, and he flinched, " what didn't happen, my boy," Martin was asking, concern dotting his face. He looked older, as old as he should be now. Malcolm was not in his house’s garden anymore. The horrific pictures of his mother and sister were not there, thankfully.

He looked around, and his stomach dropped. He was in the room under the house, the one John Watkins held him in. He tried to move, but something stopped him. He was _tethered_ to the wall. 

Malcolm looked at his father with a look that conveyed utter horror intermixed with sheer desperation and feigned defiance.

“What is this?” he demanded, “Where are we?”

“We... are here," Martin said slowly with an emphasis on each word that made his skin crawl, "because you refuse to give up and accept your old man for who he is!"

“What does this even mean?” he hissed through clenched teeth.

"What other answer do you want, Malcolm? You keep asking me every time I come here, but my answer will never change, just like it never changed the past twenty years. Accept me, _join me_ , and we can go back to how things were."

Malcolm blinked his shock, “you... you kept me here for… for _twenty_ years?”

“Oh well, yes! What’s wrong with you today, my boy. Up to one of your old tricks?” Martin was circling him like a predator about to devour his prey, “what are you planning on today?”

"no, nno, this wrong! I called the cops. They… they _arrested_ you. I… _I escaped you.”_

“My boy, what terrible nonsense. Of course, that didn’t happen.”

“What!!”

"Well, I admit you did call the cops," Martin was rambling like he always did, "which in truth was a mistake on my part, leaving you aware enough to make that phone call. But that cop did not listen to you. Fortunately for me … and _you_.”

“NO!... no, he did. Gil… Gil listened to me, he _believed me,_ ” he was crying now, the world swaying under his feet and he fell to the floor. His father was still speaking, lying to him, manipulating him.

"… and I kept you here until you learned to accept me."

"No, no, you’re lying. You always lie, that’s what you _are_. This isn’t true. I…I saved him. I saved all of them.”

"Did you now?" Malcolm gestured to the wall in the far left of the room. Malcolm followed his hands and took in the pictures plastered there. The voice he let out was a mix of a shriek, an inhale, and a sob. There were _so many_ pictures. _So many_ victims. All of them dead because Martin kept him here, shackled to the wall like some animal.

“mmhmm…” he let out a wounded sigh and hugged his knees. He stared at the wall, looking at the faces that stared back at him.

 _This isn’t real_. _Your brain is playing tricks on you._

A picture of Gil. He felt the tears come afresh.

_Not real. You saved him._

A picture of JT. A pang of guilt.

_Why would the surgeon kill JT if he kept me here for twenty years? There is no reason why his picture is here. Why do I know JT if I was imprisoned here for twenty years? It’s my subconscious taunting me._

A picture of Dani.

_No, no, no, no-no. Not real. No real. Not real._

“Then why does it feel so real?” his father bent over his hunched figure and hissed in his ear.

“It’s not,” his voice was small, scared and full of doubt.

Martin straightened and went for the chair in the corner, “looks like you are having a bad day, don’t let me get in the middle of that.”

And he just sat there, humming.

Malcolm kept rocking himself, shivering and crying. This whole thing felt so wrong. He could feel his father's piercing gaze on him, burning a hole in his back. He refused to look towards him.

He only had eyes for the pictures on the wall.

Gil.

Those people he couldn't save.

Gil.

The victims his father murdered.

Gil.

And Dani.

And JT.

Gil and Dani, and JT.

Gil and Dani, and JT.

_They are not dead._

Gil and Dani, and JT.

_This isn’t real._

Gil and Dani, and JT.

He screamed and screamed, but nothing came out. He couldn't scream anymore, and every attempt felt like daggers were clawing at his throat. He was trapped in his endless misery, not even sure what's real and what's not.

Between the tears, the shivering, and the endless pain stabbing at his heart, he silently prayed that the surgeon would just give up and kill him as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! Your comments and criticisms are highly welcome.


	6. Benzodiazepines

Benzodiazepines

Time was meaningless in this prison. He could not tell how long he stayed wrapped in his own arms, staring at those pictures, fighting against this nightmare, but the more he passively waited for this to pass, the more realistic everything started to seem.

The more he repeated his mantra, the less he believed it.

Snippets of memories crept up and invaded his mind. False memories that were fueled by fear and guilt, long drilled in his subconscious. Images. Sounds. Feelings.

An image of Gil bruised and bloody, in his officer uniform, dragged in this cell, chained and kept to starve. An image of himself, young and scared, imprisoned here as he watched his father torture the young officer.

The sound of his cries as he begged his dad to stop hurting the man. The chocked sob that escaped Gil as he looked at him and apologized for not believing him earlier. The sound of Gil taking his last breath, his eyes rolling at the back of his head.

The loud silence that followed. The crippling fear that gnawed at him.

His father's menacing glare as he explained to him that he would be kept here until he learned to accept this and keep his mouth shut.

_No real, not real, did not happen._

An image of JT, defiantly staring at the surgeon as he slit his throat, the light draining from his eyes. An image of Dani, bound, screaming and fighting, kicking and thrashing, as the surgeon bled her to death.

His mother crying in the news, offering a tremendous amount of money to whoever finds her missing boy, his _father next to her_ , feigning grief.

His father upping his killing spree, never getting caught, tricking everyone around him. Him, sleeping next to his mother, kissing Ainsley, with blood on his hands. And he lay here helpless. 

Hopeless. It was futile.

_Not real. Not real._

Then he was overwhelmed by anger. Anger as they moved on with their lives like he never existed. Anger because his mother couldn't figure out his dad was a monster, that no one found him.

Blinding rage for being kept here, imprisoned and shackled by his father, unable to leave, unable to escape, just reliving horror after horror, day after day…

Rage...

* * *

Mason was beyond ecstatic. When he first embarked on this mission, he did not expect that it would grant him such satisfaction. After all, he always considered himself a _good_ person.

And granted, he would have remained so, if Natalie chose to stay with him, if she accepted him, if she… it didn’t matter. He _kept her_ here until she promised to stay with him.

Then she took her life.

She even had the audacity to call her friends, tell them about what he did, like he was some sort of monster. She left him no choice, he had to hunt them down and deal with them. He couldn’t get exposed, not yet.

But then the desire to save himself was overweighed by the pleasure he felt. To be fair, he really enjoyed seeing them helpless. It awakened something in him, a revengeful monster seeking control.

But it never stopped after. This was pleasure and control. This was _fun_. The thrill was so overwhelming and intense that he had to repeat it. Then it just wasn't enough. He needed to up his game and to maintain that feeling of euphoria. Like an addict, he just needed more

Kidnapping the nosy profiler and his friend was the best thing he had done. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins every time Edrisa whimpered, every time he looked at Malcolm. Mason knew he was stronger and better than all of the others, but going against people who worked with the police was something else. It made him feel mighty.

When he heard the profiler scream, he was flustered at first, then confused at how he managed to trick his drug. But mainly, he was satisfied. Something in him felt more alive. He just realized it then. Whatever he was doing now was satisfying. But the range of things that he could do to them. He shuddered at the thought.

He moved over to his next captive and looked at her. She had stopped struggling and was mainly quiet now. Her hands were rubbed raw from fighting against her restraints, he guessed her ankles would be too. He snickered, removed the tape covering her mouth, and watched her as she let out a whimper and took a deep breath.

"It gets a bit suffocating, wouldn't you agree."

Silence.

"I figured since you quit squirming, I can let you breathe without the tape. You know, be nice! I can get you a cup of water if you want. ... no? ... ok, as you wish." He laughed and moved away.

Mason knew that she was terrified beyond measure, that her defiance and silence were an act. And boy was she a bad actress. He enjoyed that.

He looked at the profiler and felt an intense urge to shake him up. The thrill of him helpless was overweighed by the desire to cause him harm and see how much he can take. But he knew that his drug was not going to make that possible. Not until he was out of the hallucination phase and into the awareness one.

He checked his watch, how long before he came out of this? His mind was racing, thinking of all the things he can do to hurt him.

Electroshock? Cutting? Many many options. Or maybe he can hurt _her_ and have him listen.

He snickered. Yes, that would be better. He was lit by the idea, and the thoughts kept him patient. He just had to wait.

And For now, he waited.

* * *

The changes were subtle at first. The number of pictures on the wall decreased, and the photo of Gil was now of an older man- hair streaked with grey.

He no longer trembled and felt helpless.

In fact, he felt _awake._ All the haziness and fear were melting away, and his memories were returning to him, real, concrete, and untarnished. The influx of events felt welcome, like a drowning man who found a raft to shelter him against the angry tides of the sea.

Clarity was slowly seeping in his mind as well. And he was once more in control.

They were checking the factory. He and Edrisa were kidnapped. He suffered head trauma, possibly a concussion, and got injected with a paralytic drug that made him hallucinate.

_Great. At least he remembered now._

When he opened his eyes again, he was _still_ in the cell, under the house, with Martin. But he was not chained to the wall, and there were no pictures of murdered victims plastered across the room. Martin was tethered and cuffed like usual, wearing the Claremont whites and cardigan. He was free, and his dad wasn’t. 

Now he had control.

_But why did he still feel so scared?_

“Oh, how the tables have turned,” Martin smiled, raising his hands to showcase the handcuffs, and the tether.

Malcolm was on his feet in an instant, he started looking around and assessing the situation. He shot Martin an accusatory glare, “this is all in my head…. umm why are you still here?”

Without waiting for an answer, he made for the door and tried to open it.

“I am always here,” again came his reply with that irritating smile, “ quite a pickle you got yourself into”

"Well, I had no choice," he retorted angrily. The door was bolted. He had to find something to pry it open. He started looking around the room. 

“ … and those dreams of yours, quite telling.”

“Shut up! You are not even real. You are a figment of my imagination.”

“True. But you need me. Isn’t that why you always come back?” Malcolm stopped his search and stared at his father, his hand was already starting to shake. His mouth hung open in an attempt to reply, but nothing came out.

“The human brain is truly a magnificent creation… you see. And in times of dire need, it can conjure up memories, create scenarios of fears and guilt long rooted in the psyche. It lets the fear manifest and grows until it swallows you whole.” 

Malcolm closed his eyes and breathed. This is not his father, that’s just his brain playing another trick on him. He can ignore it. He found a crowbar in the corner of the room.

_Get out. He must get out and help Edrisa._

“Um, I don't think getting out of here is that easy. This is an abstract prison, after all. It’s all in your mind.”

Malcolm rolled his eyes and clenched his fist, “I know!” he sighed impatiently, “have any other ideas?”

“Perhaps,” Malcolm looked back at his father, but he was no longer there.

“Wha?.... AAAAh… nghhh,” he gasped as martin materialized before him and lodged a knife in his chest. 

His body shook violently, and he felt himself drifting away. He thought he was going to slip into unconsciousness again, like some candle that was blown out; his vision shook, his surroundings glitched and disappeared, and a wave of blackness engulfed him.

But he remained there. In the dark, but there.

Suddenly he felt something. His finger twitched.

* * *

When Mason saw his finger twitch, he couldn’t contain the gleam of joy that crept up his face. _Finally_.

If the profiler was twitching, it meant he was awake and lucid enough for him to continue with his plans. He stooped next to his captive, and watched him breathe, noted every hitch and every twitch. His despair was fascinating. But he needed more than just that. He wanted aguish.

He removed one side of the headphones and watched as the sounds came back to him, enjoyed his frantic breaths and confusion. The return of sound after so much silence must be agony in itself. He smirked and leaned near his ear.

"I think you are awake now? No more hallucinations. I hope those were fun for you as they were for _us_ to watch." He chuckled and threw a glance at Edrisa, who was staring daggers at him.

"The plan was to just keep you like that, but to be honest, I am getting bored. And watching you scream was so much fun. So maybe we can have more of that?”

His captive’s breathing hitched; he was almost hyperventilating by now. Mason was tingling with happiness. 

“I thought so too… you just stay put. No, I won’t tell you what’s coming, it’s a surprise.”

Mason slid the headphones back on and watched as the profiler's body shook with fear. The woman was screaming at him to let him go. It was double the pleasure. He went for the cattle prod he had stuffed in his bag, and as he turned around, he stared.

Malcolm was having a seizure.

* * *

The darkness was welcome after all the hallucinations, and after his dad metaphorically stabbed him. It still felt as if he couldn't breathe. He still felt alone, but having his memories back was keeping him sane. 

How long had it been since he voluntarily offered his arms to Mason? It felt like centuries ago. He was tired and scared. But most of all, he felt helpless like a sitting duck.

 _How much longer should we have to endure this?_ A panicking voice echoed in the void. 

Maybe he should count to track time.

One

Two

Three

…

Sixty- ** _Six_** _!! It's been only one minute??_

_Calm down. This is still better than Dad, better than the blood._

Then something happened. A deafening sound. Suddenly, he could hear _everything._ His shallow and hitched breath, the sound of the neon light in the place, the breeze of air.

So loud! Everything was so loud. His head was banging and throbbing with such intensity that overshadowed everything else.

But then…. Edrisa! He could hear her whimpering. And… He could hear Mason's uneven breath. He could feel his excitement radiating like static in the air.

Mason's lips came near his ears, and he felt himself stiffen.

“I think you are awake now. No more hallucinations. I hope those were fun for you as they were for _us_ to watch.” His chuckle made Malcolm’s blood run cold.

"The plan was to just keep you like that, but to be honest, I am getting bored. And watching you scream was so much fun. So maybe we can have more of that?”

His breathing hitched. Adrenaline coursed through his body, begging him to fight, to escape, to do _anything_. But he couldn’t. Some part of him wished he was shackled. Lying there, completely free and unchained, yet so helpless was torture in itself. His inability to make a run for it, fight it was making him sick.

“I thought so too… you just stay put. No, I won’t tell you what’s coming, it’s a surprise.”

No.

The moment he felt the headphones slip back over his hears, he wanted to scream, but his voice stopped working long ago.

No, no, no, no! He wanted to beg. He can't get back under. Not after he could hear again. Please, please, he implored silently but to no avail. It was like he was banging on a locked door in a basement inside a haunted house in the middle of nowhere. No one could hear him, and no one could help.

Darkness encroached.

Nothing to see, hear, smell.

Nothingness.

He was back once again in the pit of darkness, and he kept falling and falling.

This was it.

This was death.

He couldn’t breathe

And then he started to shake. 

* * *

Ten minutes ago, Edrisa could have sworn things were horrible and could never get worse. 

Then Bright came to, and she felt hope creep ever so slightly into her heart. How silly of her? Things don't get better; _they only always get worse_.

Then Mason was whispering in his ears, promising him more pain and torture, and she saw… She saw his flinches, his tears, and his fear. She mindlessly begged Mason to stop, to leave him alone, and was obviously ignored.

This was it! Things were at their worst phase now, weren't they? And she would have to watch. She cried some more and silently prayed for a reprieve.

But somehow things _still_ got even worse.

She stared with wide eyes as Malcolm started seizing. His body was hacked with convulsions so strong the bed started moving around. He needed help fast, or they could lose him. Her head whipped to look at Mason, who looked _scared?_

All his calm and sadism were now pure panic. The prod in his hand fell to the floor by his side, and he remained petrified. She did not expect him to act this way. It made no sense.

It.. it didn't matter, if he couldn't help, then she must. 

"Mason, MASON!!" she called for him and was surprised how steady her voice sounded. He looked at her, and she saw his eyes wild with fear. "Do something or cut me free to do it!"

“I am not stupid…” he muttered, eyes darting between Malcolm and her, “He will stop, he... he’s just scared.”

“NO, he won’t! He needs medical attention. Please. I am a doctor; I can help him. Please...”

Their captor looked at her, and she could tell he was considering her proposition. But Malcolm didn't have time for this, so she played her last card, "Look... LOOK at me! You said you aren't done with him yet… if he dies, then you miss out. Please…"

Her gamble paid off. He set in motion, cut her loose with a switchblade. Holding the knife to her face, he scowled, "if you do anything stupid…."

He left the threat open, but she knew what he meant. Nodding frantically, she ran over to the bed where Malcolm was.

"Do you have any Diazepam? What did you give him last time?" she asked as she removed the stupid plug, the blindfolds, and the headsets. Then she continued to loosen the tie across his neck and opened his dress shirt. She then gently pushed him to lie on his side.

“I have benzodiazepines, what are you doing?”

“Then give it to me! You shouldn’t hold him down, and you should keep his airway open so that he can breathe.”

Edrisa eyed the syringe Mason gave her, and her heart skipped a beat. "is that all you have?" she asked him.

"No, but this dosage is enough to put down a horse! Hurry up now, or I will take it back and let him die."

It was a spur of the moment decision. Edrisa took a deep breath and glanced apologetically at Malcolm for a second before she charged at the unsuspecting Mason, and plunged the needle into his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait :3 school work isn't kind!
> 
> Thanks to the amazing @atomrealm for helping me with the medical stuff <3


	7. Help is Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *peeks from the bush... and waves awkwardly* hi :D
> 
> So I know.. it's been a while and I said I'd be back as soon as I finish my other fic (The Price of Trust) but then flash forward to two months and three other fics later and Trapped isn't done yet. Sorrry!
> 
> The good news is the last chapter is written and is being edited! It should be posted by tomorrow too!

Help is Coming

Dani was so happy when the clock struck eight, that she packed her stuff in no time and ran out of the precinct. Like any day, she yearned for a hot shower and rest, and today, especially, she was totally spent. Between her usual work, and helping Malcolm with his side case, Dani realized she had been working twelve hours straight. And apart from that cup of coffee, she shared with Malcolm, she hadn't eaten anything all day. 

Her drive home was quiet and uneventful. She stopped for some Chinese on the way, and the smell made her stomach dance. The plan was to shower, eat, and sleep—the perfect night for an average working adult. Or a lifeless one, she wouldn't really know. 

When she reached her apartment, she found a big parcel waiting by her door. Actually, it was less of a parcel and more like a huge rectangular package. Dani dropped her stuff and quickly tore open the wrapping. It was the painting she was admiring in the Gallery a few hours ago. She gasped, covering her mouth with one hand. 

_Bright._

It must be him. Who else.

She smiled as she opened the card that was pinned on the outside. It was his handwriting, elegant as ever, and his signature at the end. 

𝘐 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘎𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘺, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘰𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵. 𝘈 𝘵𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱.

-𝘔𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘮 𝘉𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t stop the stupid grin from spreading across her face. This must have been super expensive. He really shouldn’t have. But the painting wasn’t why she couldn’t stop smiling. Honestly, it was the fact that he noticed her _liking it_ that made her so giddy. Leave it to Malcolm Bright to be focused on a case, fighting with the owner, and still notice his partner’s fascination with a painting. 

Her thoughts of a good shower and rest were suddenly non-existent. Dani felt like a teenage girl once more, and she just needed to see him. It was a strange feeling and one she wasn't accustomed to. Maybe they could talk about the case that's been on his mind, or she could offer to help or something. (Anything really). 

Most importantly, she must thank him for this gift. No, she would return it. It’s too expensive she couldn’t possibly accept it. Yup, she’ll do that. 

Dani dialed his number, but Malcolm didn't answer. Twice. It was strange because Malcolm always answered his phone. 

Her bright smile slowly morphed into a frown. Usually, she wouldn't have been that worried, but they were so close to solving the case. They have located three Eric Masons, and Dani just _knew_ that Malcolm might have done something stupid. 

She drove to his loft first. Using the spare keys he gave her, she let herself in. 

Malcolm wasn’t back yet. 

She could tell because he would always hang his bag by the door. Malcolm was systematic that way. He might have left again after coming home, but he wouldn't carry his work bag with him. Maybe she was paranoid, but he still wasn't answering his phone. She could have called Gil, maybe even Edrisa, but she didn't want to worry them unnecessarily. Well, that and she wasn't comfortable explaining why she wanted to seek him out at night in the first place. 

Her next stop was the precinct. She looked at his desk, but Malcolm wasn't there. Where are you, Bright? She thought as she fumbled with the papers on his desk. 

Like his loft, Malcolm’s desk was super organized. His files were color-coded and arranged meticulously in a system that made it so easy for him to access and review the cases. It was always impressive to see how his chaotic actions and carefree attitude hid behind a very organized and detail-oriented persona. She checked his recent folders and found the details she needed. _Bingo_

There were new lab results sent over by Edrisa, things Malcolm _did not share with her_. She muttered a curse as she found the address of the place _their_ Eric Mason worked at. There was no doubt that Bright went there. Her stomach churned, fearing that he might be in danger. 

She could call Gil or JT, but she still had no proof he'd gone missing yet. It's all clues and speculation. The detective in Dani needed to be sure before she worried those who care about Bright too. She couldn't put Gil through the Watkins ordeal without being 100% sure that Malcolm was in danger. So, Dani asked her friend in cyber to run a trace on his phone while driving to the address she found in the files. 

* * *

Dani thought things were bad. 

The factory was empty. Nothing was there. No Bright. No Mason. 

But then they got worse. 

The trace led to a spot right in the middle of the Hudson. Dani wanted to pull at her hair when she knew. It meant two things. 

Either Mason dropped it in the river, and he has Bright, or he dropped Bright in there with it. 

The thought attacked her with a hammering force that knocked the wind out of her. Suddenly, Dani found herself on the ground in the clearance by the factory, trembling, hugging herself, rocking back and forth, trying to calm down and failing spectacularly. This was definitely her fault. If— if Bright was dead, if .. if. She knew, oh, she _knew_ how he got when he found a lead. She knew he would run blindly into danger and never look back. She should have stayed with him, made sure he didn’t do anything stupid. 

Dani was spiraling, and she knew that wouldn't help anyone. She had to order her thoughts and think straight! For all she knew, Malcolm could still be alive. Dani should act as a detective and not grieve like a friend. Taking deep breaths, she slowly started thinking of five things she could see, five she could smell, or five she could feel. It was a technique Malcolm told her about, said it calmed him, made him focus. 

Dani gave it a try.

She could see the vast darkness in the field behind the factory, she could see the factory windows. She could smell the grass, the perfume she's wearing. She could feel her phone in her hands, and the night's air breeze brushing through her hair, kissing her skin. It was the small things she focused on, which helped her relax. 

She needed to find Mason. Finding him is integral to finding Bright. With (still) shaky-hands, Dani took out her phone and made the call. All it took was two rings before the voice on the other line answered. 

Dani swallowed.“Gil, there is something you need to know!”

* * *

Apart from the knowledge of Bright's idiotic tendencies to run looking for trouble alone, and by the fact that his phone's signal is coming from the bottom of the Hudson, the NYPD had nothing else to go on. It was almost 7 am, and all their work led to dead ends. Mason's house hasn't been used for nearly a month. His colleagues said they barely knew anything about him, he was a workaholic and never engaged in any activities. His phone hasn't been used in ages (he's probably using a burner). All evidence of Eric Mason had disappeared right around the time he traveled with Natalie, the first victim. 

Dani sat on the table in the conference room, clutching a cup of earl gray. She held it in both hands, taking advantage of its warmth and cherishing the aroma, but she didn’t take a single sip. Gil was devastated and angry, frantically trying to find any leads to find their profiler. She knew Gil wasn’t mad at her, but part of her couldn’t help but feel responsible. He trusted her with keeping Bright safe, and somehow she let him down. She let Bright down. 

The sound of her phone vibrating caught her attention. She frowned at the caller ID. An unknown number. “Powell.”

"Dani! oh—oh, _thank God_!"

"Edrisa?" Dani hopped off the table. The medical examiner's usually excited and jovial voice was terrified and shaking. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Yes— NO! NO! We're not okay! Bright and I found Mason, the killer in the case? He's holding us somewhere I don't know, and he hit and drugged Bright, and he looks terrible and— and.."

"Wa-wa Wait… Slow down! Edrisa, you are WITH BRIGHT?" Now it was Dani's turn to panic."Where are you? And Whose phone is this? where is Eric Mason?"

"He's— um I drugged him! He's unconscious now. That's his phone. Dani, trace this and find us, _please_! And and Bright needs help!”

"Ok, ok, Stay on the line!" 

“ _P_ _lease hurry_!" Dani rushed through the door as she heard Edrisa's tearful plea, and she wanted nothing but to hug and comfort her friend. The last few seconds have been the break they were waiting for. Suddenly Gil and JT were on board, making sure someone was tracing the call and planning a dispatch team to their location.

In less than thirty minutes, they were en route to the place. Taking into consideration that Edrisa called around forty minutes ago, their kidnapper was due to wake up soon. JT was driving as fast as he could, his foot was slamming the pedal. Dani was in the passenger seat talking to Edrisa, keeping her on the line, making sure they were still alive. Gil was in the car behind them. 

Contrary to what everyone thought, Edrisa really could hold her own. Now that Dani thought of it, it was dumb to think otherwise. Yes, Edrisa always gave a clumsy vibe, but she was one excellent medical examiner. Edrisa was a woman who was very good at her job, smart, dedicated, and very professional. Dani was overwhelmed with a feeling of respect and guilt. Respect for the Edrisa, for saving her life and Bright's, and guilt because no one even noticed that the medical examiner was missing. Granted, her finding that Bright went missing was because of his gift, but, still, Dani felt terrible. Edrisa was part of the team, and no one realized she wasn't there. 

“Dani— ?” Edrisa’s labored voice came through the receiver.

“Yes, I’m with you!”

“umm— I think he’s starting to wake up!”

* * *

Edrisa’s heart was in her throat. It had been almost twenty minutes since she injected Mason, eighteen since he fell to the floor unconscious, and fifteen since she called Dani and asked for help. 

Right after Edrisa plunged the needle in Mason's heart, he staggered but tried to fight her. His face contorted in anger, and he looked ready to kill her where she stood. But Edrisa was smart; she aimed for the heart. The drug was fast-acting, and he had no time to react or fight it. His mistake was that he underestimated her. Everyone tended to, and while it irritated the hell out of her, it was beneficial in cases like these. 

Once she made sure Mason was out, she quickly made her way to Bright. The choice not to inject him with another cocktail of drugs was probably a wise one. His veins were already swimming with mixtures of paralytic agents and drugs, who knew what benzos would have done?

Malcolm was already starting to relax. Edrisa guessed it was because he could discern his surroundings and feel again.

"Bright! Bright, are you okay?" she asked him as she checked his head wound. His eyes opened, and they were glazed and unfocused. He tried to nod, tried to speak but couldn't. His body was still not his to command, his voice was too hoarse to make a sound. He only let out a faint murmur, but it was good enough for her. 

They needed help. _He needed help_. Fast. She ran around looking into Mason's bag, trying to find anything to call for help, and her head kept darting back to make sure he's still out. She knew he wouldn't be up for another hour, but in her state, she couldn't trust her medical knowledge— or anything else for that matter. In a hidden pocket in the bag, she found a burner, and she almost cried with joy. Her hands fumbled as she thought of dialing 911, but then she decided it's best to call someone from their team. Edrisa dialed the only number she had memorized. Dani's. 

* * *

Help was coming. They were coming to save them. She kept the phone on for them to run a trace. Dani was talking to her through the phone. They were on the way, but they wanted to keep Mason indisposed just in case he woke up before they reached. Malcolm was _still_ under the drug’s pull, a dead weight. If Mason woke up before they did, he was sure to kill both of them, cut his losses and leave. 

“Is there nothing at all that you can use to restrain him?” Dani asked her. 

"I— he used duct tape, but I don't see any" Edrisa stammered as she looked around. "There is another place, but I don't want to leave Bright alone."

“Edrisa… you said you have time before the effects of the drug wore off. You need to keep Mason contained until we reach.” 

“Okay-y” She ran out and found herself looking at a small office in the far left end of the warehouse. Mason’s office, she assumed. Besides the two chairs and a small desk, the place was empty. Edrisa’s eyes fell on the handcuffs Mason used on Bright when he first took them. 

“I found a set of handcuffs!” She exclaimed.

“Okay perfect, you need to cuff him. Can you do that?”

“Yah!” Edrisa’s eyes landed on the gun Mason used to kidnap them. The memory of the barrel pushed against her temple made her shudder. She quickly grabbed that too and ran back. 

She looked at Bright. 

Safe! 

She looked at Mason. 

Still out! 

Edrisa let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. 

Her heart starting beating even faster as she approached their captor. He was a big man, and unconscious, so he was literally _dead weight_. Luckily for Edrisa, she was used to dealing with dead weights all the time. Between her adrenaline pumping through her veins and her practice in the morgue, she was able to turn him around and cuff him. 

“He’s cuffed!” she announced as soon as she was done, and she hobbled back to where the profiler lay. “Please _hurry._ ”

"We're on the way! Just stay safe and keep an eye on Bright!" Dani's reassuring voice resonated, strong and calm, but it broke on that last word. Bright's name. 

“I will!” Edrisa went back to where Malcolm was and sat next to him. Dani was still on the phone, trying her best to keep Edrisa calm and in control. Edrisa really appreciated it. Once the surge of adrenaline coursing through her blood started to wear off, she began to really freak out. Waiting in silence didn't help either.

Next to her, Malcolm started breathing irregularly, and the tears, once more, streamed silently down his face.

“Bright— _Bright!_ ” Edrisa tried again, hoping against hope that he will answer her. 

“mhmm…” 

"How are you feeling? Are you okay?" she probed, her voice thick with unshed tears. 

"m' fine," he mumbled and swallowed painfully. His voice hoarse and raspy from all the screaming he'd done. On hearing how broken he sounded, Edrisa's tears started falling, unchecked. 

"Can you— um… hear me well? See me?" she moved her hands over his eyes, watched him open them weakly, and followed her hand with his pupils. His head didn't move an inch. 

“mhmm… too loud… too— _bright_ ," he rasped out, and she regretted ever asking. Her heart ached when she looked at him. He'd been enduring a world of nothingness for so long that he must be so overwhelmed right now, and she couldn't help him. Once again, she couldn't help him. Not when Mason subjected him to his sensory deprivation torture, and not now when he was going through sensory overload. She sniffed and clasped Mason's gun. "Help is coming!" She assured him… _and herself_. For now, she’s their only protector. 

Time passed.

It wasn’t until Dani told her that they were ten minutes out, that Mason started groaning.

Edrisa’s blood ran cold. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it :D let me know your thoughts!


	8. They’ll be Alright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I added an extra part and that's why it took more time :P but I'm glad that I did! It reads better now. Enjoy :)

They’ll be Alright

“Dani—? umm— I think he’s starting to wake up!” 

Edrisa knew she should have listened to the detective give her advice, but when fear got involved, common sense was nowhere to be found. Legs shaking, she stood up and clutched the gun in both hands, aiming it at the despicable bundle on the floor. 

Mason continued to groan and twitch as his senses started to come back to him. She watched as memories of what happened came back to him (what she'd done to him), and he realized that his hands were handcuffed behind his back. Mason swore loudly, and at the sound of his voice, Malcolm started trembling. Edrisa's hands shook as she aimed the gun at their captor, who was rolling to his side and trying to sit up. 

"You— stupid, _stupid Bitch_ ," he growled when he looked at her. “You will pay for this, _You and Mr profiler_ over there!”

“Stay where you are!” she warned him, “or I’ll shoot!”

His harsh laugh made her grasp the gun even tighter. Mason looked her in the eye, and she saw that he was _amused_. “You won’t fire.” He said matter-of-factly as he struggled to his feet. 

"Don't test me!" Edrisa looked behind at Malcolm, and she took a step back as Mason approached her. He wasn't moved by her threat, and his eyes were alight with maddening hatred and anger. He was right, though. Injecting him with a sedative and handcuffing him was something, and shooting him was something else entirely. Edrisa never used a gun in her life. Her hands shook so much that she wouldn't do any damage, let alone even aim at him. She silently prayed that Dani and the team would soon reach because she was out of all possible moves. 

* * *

The past few minutes were spent in tense silence as they heard their perpetrator wake up and threaten Edrisa and Bright. JT swore under his breath, clutched the steering wheel tighter, and sped even more. Dani's hands clenched into fists. The car was engulfed into tense silence when it was obvious that her screams and directions at Edrisa didn't go through. The medical examiner couldn't hear them. Their only hope is to reach there and deal with the situation themselves. 

The second they reached, Dani jumped out of their car and ran towards the place. She was immediately followed by Gil, JT, and the rest of the SWAT team, and they started to breach the warehouse. Just like any other time, they were quiet, tactical, and prepared. But unlike any other time, Dani's heart was beating so loud against her chest that she feared it would give them away. She had to leave her phone and focus on the mission at hand, so she didn't know what was happening, or could have already happened. Horrible things only took seconds, and she just hoped that they weren't too late. 'Mason was handcuffed,' she reminded herself. How much harm could he really do? 

The warehouse was empty, which confirmed their hypothesis that Mason worked alone. They quickly cleared the whole place save for one room. It had to be this one. Dani braced herself as one of the men knocked down the door, and JT shouted his usual 'NYPD! put your hands where we can see them!" 

Edrisa was cornered by Mason, her back pressed against the wall as he towered over her. She was squirming, eyes closed shut. The man was handcuffed, and yet he still looked intimidating. As soon as he heard JT, his head whipped in their direction. He didn't have time to act, as he was suddenly swarmed by officers, taking him down. 

Dani lowered her weapon. Mason was apprehended and led away, leaving Gil, JT, and Dani standing in the room. Gil made his way for Bright without a second thought. JT, being the most level headed among them, called for the EMTs who were already outside waiting for them to clear the place. Dani looked at Edrisa, who buckled to the floor and started sobbing in relief. 

"Edrisa! you good?" Dani called out as she crouched over her, trying to calm her down. Edrisa sniffed and nodded tersely. She hugged her, and Dani noticed just how much the medical examiner shook. It was expected, though. Edrisa'd been through hell and back. An experience like this, was not something anyone could endure? And the fact that Edrisa had it in her to do what she did? It was awe-inspiring. 

“You did good! Edrisa, you hear me?” JT looked at her admiringly. “You saved yourself and Bright today! you did very well!”

She continued to nod, tears running down her face, but then as if suddenly realizing, she looked at them both. “Bright needs help, _now_!” 

"EMTs are coming in now! You need to be checked as well," JT informed her. 

Dani zoned out and got up to look for Bright. The moment she saw him, she gasped. He was lying on a bed, and he didn't look like he even moved when he heard the commotion. It took her a second to register that he was even really there. Gil was already by his side, shaking him. The profiler had his hair caked with dried blood. His face smudged with tears, and he was _so quiet_. This was what scared them the most. Malcolm Bright was never quiet. 

"Bright! _Bright!_ are you okay?... Kid?” his voice was pained and panicked. 

“ _Gil?..._ " he wheezed, his voice so hoarse and raspy. Malcolm looked and sounded so small like he wasn't sure Gil was real. It broke her heart, and she found herself unable to breathe, let alone speak. She wanted to go to him, but somehow her legs were cemented to the floor, preventing her from taking a single step. All she could do was look at him while tears started collecting at the corner of her eyes.

The EMTs were suddenly there, and Malcolm was being led outside on a stretcher, Gil by his side, making sure not to leave him alone. Another one helped Edrisa to her feet, and she too was being led outside. 

Dani found her way to one of the chairs in the room, and she sank in it. The events of the past few hours came crashing down on her, and the guilt was intolerable. She should have been there with Bright. If she was, none of this would have happened. The tears blurred her vision and were threatening to spill, so she rubbed them away quickly. 

JT's hand resting on her shoulder made her flinch. "Please don't say it" she closed her eyes in resignation, hoping to shut the world out. 

“It’s not your fault,” he said it anyway. His eyes overflowing with concern. “They’ll be okay.”

Dani inhaled sharply and said nothing. Her traitorous eyes wouldn't stop tearing, but she bit the inside of her mouth and nodded. 

JT rubbed her back. “you know I’m not really good at this, but I bet his skinny ass would like to see you when he’s settled in the hospital.” he then continued teasingly, “I doubt you’d like him to see you with smudged mascara.” 

"Shut up!" she laughed despite herself. Just how busted was she? Did they all know she had feelings for him?

"Oh boy, and the paperwork we have to get done now. Come, let me drop you at the hospital before I go book this asshole." He raised his eyebrows "— or do you wanna come with me?"

“No— god no. Hospital _please_ ” Dani rubbed the tears again and sniffed. She took a deep breath and followed JT. 

* * *

Malcolm was... fine. 

His system was overflowing with tons of drugs, and they had to run a Tox screen to see how best to deal with his situation. It took three more hours before the effects of the paralytic agents wore off. The concussion was mild, thankfully, although the Dr. warned them that he would suffer from some killer headaches for a while. They had to be very careful with the drugs they administer to him, seeing that his body was already full of them. This meant that he was off pain killers and sedatives. 

_But Malcolm was fine._ Or wasn't he? 

Dani knew just how much trauma he was hoarding; all the pain and the suffering he tried to hide with his cheerful and carefree attitude. What Mason forced him to endure? It was torture. Dani was worried that perhaps it was too much. She was terrified he’d end up like Lori Stewart and the others.

She was waiting outside his room when Gil came out. His face was lined with stress and anxiety that made her stomach churn and her guilt, never really at bay, surface once more. She couldn't meet his eyes. Not after she failed him as a friend and as her superior. 

Gil, though didn't notice. "He wouldn't speak. He's awake, but he wouldn't speak to me." He sat on the chair next to her and buried his hands in his face.

Dani wet her lips and said nothing. 

“I called Jessica. She’s on her way. They want to keep him under supervision for a couple of days— to make sure he…” his voice tensed, “that he wouldn’t do anything reckless— like the other victims.”

"I'm so sorry, Gil," she whispered and turned to meet his eyes. He was looking at her intently, confused. 

“What for?”

"It's my fault he was taken. You — you told me to keep an eye on him, and I didn't." She inhaled sharply, and this time, the tears couldn't be stopped anymore. They continued to fall down her cheeks as she gathered the courage to say the next part, "he could have _died!_ ”

Gil smiled. 

Dani expected many things, but a smile wasn't one of them. "Dani, have you seen Malcolm? Malcolm Bright does what Malcolm Bright wants. No one, not you, or I, or anyone could have stopped him from going after Mason that night."

“But at least, I would have gone with him!” 

“And then, I’d have had three missing people to look for.”

“You don’t know that!” she cried back, shaking her head.

“It’s true. I don’t,” he said gently. “Dani, but if it wasn’t for you noticing that he went missing, we wouldn’t have known.” 

She nodded and pinched the bridge of her nose. Gil put a gentle hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. “Maybe you should go in and see him. He might talk to you.”

* * *

She crept into the room like an unwanted thief. It was dull and quiet. The curtains were drawn, and the room was dim apart from the streaks of sunlight that dared to creep past the slits between the curtains. 

Malcolm was sitting on his bed, head resting on the pillow probed behind him, and was staring at nothing. Dani could see that the gash on his forehead had been closed with butterfly stitches. 

She approached him wearily until she came in Malcolm’s line of sight. She didn’t expect him to move or say anything. If Gil, his father figure, couldn’t bring him to talk, then why would she. 

Malcolm blinked when he saw her but said nothing. Her keen eyes, however, noted how he shifted a bit and tensed. He closed his eyes, but only for three seconds before he opened them again like he's too afraid to stay in the dark. 

She cleared her throat. "Hey, Bright…" He looked at her, and his shoulders slumped. His breathing rate increased like he was panicking. "I just wanted to say…" Dani looked at the floor at her feet as they made circles on the tiles. "I am sorry I wasn't there to protect you..." 

“Dani?” he inquired. His voice was still raw and hoarse. “Is it really… _you_?” 

She looked up and brushed the strands of hair that fell on her eyes and obscured her vision. He was looking at her like she might disappear. Did he think this wasn’t real? “Yes, Bright. We found you. Edrisa called us, you— you’re safe.” 

He stared at her again, digesting the information. He looked around and then at his hands. He raised and looked at them. He then ran one through his hair and winced when his hands touched his forehead, "Oww."

Dani raised her hands to warn him, but she wasn’t fast enough. “Yeah…” she winced too in sympathy. “Head wound… and you have a mild concussion. Are you feeling okay.”

"Ye—no.." he breathed, and she wilted as he shook his head. "No— umm, tell me something I wouldn't know."

“huh..?”

"Anything I don't know, Dani. I need to know this is real." Her face fell, and she put her hands in her hair and bit her lower lip. He couldn't tell if this was real. 

Something he doesn't know? 

A memory of something came to her, and it felt like it happened years ago. She blushed at the thought of it. "I got your gift yesterday." Dani couldn't help stop the smile that rose to her lips. "The painting… it was very—" sweet, thoughtful, cute, amazing? " _nice…_ ”

He looked at her, and his blue eyes met hers. She could see how his gaze changed, gained intensity. He instantly relaxed, and a ghost of a smile hovered over his face. He sank lower in his bed and exhaled. "I really thought this was another hallucination."

Dani took the chair next to his bed, “nope!” she popped the p, finally relaxing. “It is not.”

"And, Edrisa?!" Malcolm's eyes suddenly widened, and his head darted to the door, "is she okay? did he hurt her?"

"Yes— yes, she's okay," Dani assured him, putting her hand on his to keep him from suddenly jumping out of bed to look for her. "She saved your life.."

He nodded and sighed, relaxing back in his bed. “I owe her an apology... I shouldn’t have made her come with me. I put her life in danger.”

"You should have called me," she shot back, despite herself. 

“I’m sorry, Dani…” he mumbled dejectedly, “I messed up— again.“

"I'm just glad you guys are okay…" she looked at her lap, already feeling bad for snapping at him. She cleared her throat. "so, Mason may not go down for what he did to the others, but we can definitely nail him for what he did to you and Edrisa. Hopefully, he'll spend a long time behind bars."

Bright’s face darkened, and he nodded. 

“Do you... want to talk about what happened?” she probed.

"Not really… no, Dani, not now at least, I don't know." Malcolm clenched his right hand, to hide the tremors. He looked back at her, and his eyes were like a sea of sadness that flooded and overwhelmed her. "My head is… remember when I told you about the movie theatre, playing horror films about you? Well, he trapped me inside and it... It was horrible and terrifying… I understand why the others did what they did. Being trapped in your trauma…" He trailed off and exhaled. 

Dani didn't know what to say. For once, her brain couldn't find a joke or a quip like she always did. She couldn't imagine being trapped in her own nightmares. The thought of her ODing, the image of her father dying, playing over and over in her mind was haunting that she shuddered and closed her eyes. 

“The _bright_ side is," Malcolm grinned, so happy with his pun, "now I don't have to complain about things being too relaxed, because there is always something I can see or hear that is loud enough to distract me. Something to help me escape. So, in a way, it wasn't all bad."

"So you won't discharge yourself AMA?" she challenged, and he squinted in response.

“I don’t see the relation.”

"Of course, you don't." 

“Umm, Dani? I’m glad you liked it.”

“mhm?” Although he was deathly pale, Dani could see that a pink tint rose to his cheeks.

"The painting…" he flushed deeper and smiled. 

"Oh yeah... I did, " Dani grinned back and bit her lips. She looked down immediately and mentally cursed herself for doing that. Bright was a profiler. She might as well have put up a banner telling him about her feelings for him. 

If he noticed anything, though, he said nothing. They both went quiet, and suddenly the silence was too awkward. She needed to say something. Someone needed to say something. 

"My head feels horrible," he muttered, breaking the silence and resting his head back on the pillow.

"The concussion? They can't give you any painkillers because of the drugs in your system," she explained apologetically. 

"Yah.. it just feels like someone snapped the trunk's boot on my head three times," he squinted, and she laughed. 

Trust it to Malcolm Bright to joke about his kidnapping. 

Dani relaxed in the chair as she looked at him. He was smiling. It warmed her heart. She knew the next days would be hard on him. She knew that what happened had affected him, even though he's trying so hard to appear normal. The fear that he might end up like the rest was still there, intense and overwhelming. It was a long battle that he'll have to fight, but not alone. They will be by his side.

So, right now, Dani was just happy that the profiler was okay. Right now, that's all that mattered. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and enjoying another adventure with me! If you liked it, let me know! 
> 
> You can also check my other fics too until I see you on my next adventure :D


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